


Youth, Love, and Dreams

by Zenith_Lux



Series: Through the Ashes [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Child!Dante, Child!Vergil, Childhood Memories, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 09:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenith_Lux/pseuds/Zenith_Lux
Summary: While Vergil met his mate many years ago, when they were only children, his memories are limited to vague dreams and childhood wishes. Maybe, if things had been different, then his story would have had a different ending. But at least she’s there now to show him the joy in the future he’s found himself in.





	Youth, Love, and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy, childhood chapter! Shorter than the other ones, But I love it all the same :D (It is also an extension of Vergil's memory from CH 32 in BT. Again, not needed to fully understand the story, but helpful if you've read it.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It was two days after Vergil’s fifth birthday when he first met the girl who would later become his wife. 

His mother had already pulled him aside before he went downstairs. And while Eva had been calm and happy about the potential friendship, she had also cautioned him. “Don’t think of this friendship as a duty,” she said as she brushed through his hair, likely fixing it. And, as smart as young Vergil was, he didn’t know what she meant by that 

He wasn’t nervous, per say. His mother was excited about the meeting, so surely this unknown person was someone Eva thought was worthy of his friendship. He might have been a little excited himself if he was willing to acknowledge such things. Someone who played the piano and clearly enjoyed the same music as him? A friend that Vergil could have without his brother?

That, at least, was a reason for him to humor his mother. 

But, as much pride as older Vergil had, younger Vergil was still figuring himself out. So, instead of waltzing into the basement as if he owned the place (and, technically, he did), he stopped at the bottom of the steps, violin case in hand, and peered around the corner. 

The first thing he noticed was the long, dark blue and golden hair that was braided down the girl’s back. Multiple, golden feathers were weaved into her hair, and he thought they were pulsing with some kind of energy he couldn’t explain. She was humming as she played, her legs kicking back and forth as her feet didn’t reach the ground. And he could feel her demonic side similar to what he felt from Dante; no transformation yet, but a half-breed nonetheless. 

His heart lurched into his throat. Why? He felt something… strange with this girl. A comradery, maybe? It wasn’t the same as what he felt with Dante, but they were twins. He didn’t know this girl, yet something within him felt like he did. He felt a tug on his chest, begging him to introduce himself. And, for a brief moment, Vergil considered walking right back up the stairs and ignoring her completely. Surely this feeling wasn’t normal. Did his mother know this would happen? Did his father? 

The girl stopped playing and glanced back at him before he could begin his half-hearted escape. “Hello.” She said as she awkwardly turned toward him - the bench was much too big for a five year old - and tugged at her braid until it fell in front of her shoulder. She was nervous, clearly. “Don’t worry.” She said. “My name’s Ashira.”

Vergil blinked at that. Don’t worry about… what exactly? Did that mean she felt the same thing he did? Or was his hesitance to introduce himself that obvious? Of course, now that she had shared her name willingly, his childlike pride pushed him to do the same. “Vergil.” He said, dropping off the last step as he tried to stand as tall as possible. _ You act like a wierd king. _ Dante had told him once in disapproval. _ All… serious and stuff. Like you own the world. _But that observation hadn’t changed a thing. In little Vergil’s head, pretending like he “owned the world” was his way of emulating his father (though even Sparda had begun acting more like Dante in the past few months). 

“I know.” She said, hopping from the bench. She was shorter than him, though not by much. And while she seemed to have Dante’s enthusiasm, it was more controlled. Her voice was calm, despite her nervous jitters, and she met his gaze without hesitation. It was then that he noticed her eyes; one blue like his own, the other gold like her feathers.

He tilted his head at that. While he hadn’t seen many demons, he knew from his father’s stories that very few manifested such strange qualities. Especially half-breeds, who usually took some aspects from their human parent. But, he couldn’t imagine a human looking like she did. “Did my mother tell you?”

“Ah… well…” She pulled more on her hair, brushing her fingers along the feathers. They shimmered under her touch, and Vergil felt the spike in energy even from across the room. “My Papa did, because he’s good friends with your father.” She pushed her hair back and clasped her hands together. “Have you met him? Bright red hair? Talks a lot? Looks only kind of like me?” 

“No.” 

“Awww…” Ashira said again. “Well that’s okay. I haven’t met your father either. Or your mother. I got sent down here pretty quickly… so…” Her eyes fell to the case in his hand. “Do you play?”

Vergil bristled defensively. He hadn’t shown it to anyone but his mother. Even Dante hadn’t heard him play it (which was some kind of miracle, if Vergil was honest). But he remembered his mother’s words - _ If there’s a time to show off, now is it - _and pushed his anxiety away. “Yes.” 

For a moment, neither said anything. Vergil was calm, even if his insides were twisting in on themselves. Ashira, however, was now pulling at her fingers. He heard a few of them pop. Then, a small, golden flame appeared on her fingertips. Vergil stared at it before she squeezed her hand closed and sent it away. 

“Would you like to play with me?”

Now intrigued, Vergil nodded. 

* * *

Over the next three months, the two of them built some kind of routine. She visited three times a week - sometimes four depending on whether or not her father wanted to meet with Sparda - and they often did the same thing. Sparda would whisk Dante away with promises of a good fight (though Vergil was certain his brother was starting to catch on to the deception). Then, Vergil would meet Ashira downstairs, play music for awhile, sometimes talk (she usually did that more than he did), until her rather… eccentric father appeared to whisk her away. Then, Eva would distract Dante with promises of sweets while Vergil hid his violin, and everything returned to normal.

And, very slowly, Vergil began to enjoy their time together. 

So, when Sparda offered to take him to _ her _ home instead, it had taken everything within him to pretend that he was not the least bit excited, and was only going to satisfy his father.

Looking back, it was likely that Sparda saw right through him. But younger Vergil was none the wiser. 

“Where’s he going?” Dante whined as Vergil met his father in the kitchen that morning. Sparda was more dressed up than usual, as Vergil rarely saw him in his long coat around the house, and his monocle was golden instead of black. Vergil too was dressed up a bit more than normal. He had found the black pants and white dress shirt waiting for him when he woke up, ironed and pressed (by his mother, no doubt). 

“Your brother deserves to spend time with his father as much as you do.” Eva said as she sat a plate of eggs and sausage in front of Dante. 

And, while his brother’s eyes lit up, he still looked at Vergil with suspicion. “He’s been disappearing a lot lately.” He jutted his finger out accusingly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed! You’re hiding something from me, big bro.”

Vergil didn’t like lying, even as a child. Instead, he simply shrugged and said, “My hobbies are much different than yours.” 

“Not true!”

It was completely true, but Vergil didn’t argue.

Sparda laughed, ruffling the younger twin’s hair. A feeble attempt at distraction, but one that worked all the same. “Don’t worry.” He said. “We’ll be doing all the boring things.”

Dante’s face twisted in horror. “You mean like…” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “_ Going to the library _?” 

“And the bookstore.”

Dante’s nose wrinkled. “I’ll stay here.” Vergil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Dante wasn’t gullible, per say (his older self even less so), but any mention of “books”, “reading” or even “the theater” was enough to dissuade him from further questions. It was rare enough that they went on such trips anyway, so Vergil was grateful his brother wasn’t insistent on such things.

“Ready?” Sparda said, adjusting his monocle for no apparent reason. Vergil nodded. “Then off we go!”

* * *

Ashira’s home was both similar to Vergil’s, and incredibly different. At first, he assumed it was as secluded as theirs, but then he realized that it was even _ more _hidden. This place was in a literal bubble in what felt like a completely different world. And, when he voiced the question to his father, all Sparda said was, “welcome to the Underworld. At least, a nice part of it.”

And that had stunned Vergil. His father had adamantly refused them any chance to go to the Underworld, despite the twin’s shared curiosity on the matter. Vergil always assumed they would go when they were older, probably after their first transformation, and when Sparda could guarantee that none of his enemies would notice. 

But here he was, in a clearing of an impossible forest, standing outside an impossible, black wooden house, in the middle of the Underworld that felt much like the human world.

Sparda knocked twice. It was Kai that ripped the door open, breathless. “Welcome!” He said. “Just Ash and I today. Lilly went to visit her parents.” Kai beckoned them both in, disappearing into a back room. _ Ash. _Vergil thought. He hadn’t thought of such a nickname for his friend, but the more he mulled it over, the less he liked it. Maybe he could come up with something better. 

Kai reappeared in the doorway. “She’s outside in the back.” He said to Vergil. “If you’re quiet, you might get to see her practice.”

“Practice?” Vergil echoed. “You have a piano outside?”

Kai chuckled, but it was Sparda who nudged him. “Go on.” He said. “We’ve got a few things to discuss anyway.” 

Vergil glanced up at him. Something to discuss was usually a code word for “something you will probably understand and I don’t want you to worry about”. But with his curiosity torn between what his father had to say, and Ashira in the backyard, Vergil quickly chose the latter, as it was unlikely that his father would change his mind. 

And, while Vergil would never admit it, he had missed her. But only a little bit. 

Behind the house, a good distance away, was Ashira sitting in the grass. Beside her was a small black lizard. But even that was less interesting than the fire that dance around Ashira. A mixture of blue and gold radiating off of familiar feathers. While she had summoned her fire once by mistake, Vergil had assumed it was a weird manifestation of her demon half. Both he and Dante accidently threw spectral swords around in the heat of battle (and his, of course, were far superior). So he had thought her fire was something similar: a spectral manifestation of something she hadn't discovered yet. 

I'm hindsight, that didn't make much sense. But at the time, it had been the only way to wrap his head around their inhuman abilities. 

"You're getting better." The lizard said. While he couldn't see Ashira's face, he could imagine her grinning at such a compliment. She lifted her hand, twirling her fingers in tight circles. The flames followed suit. When she snapped her fingers, the feathers came together in the shape of a fan and dropped into her lap. The flames dispersed, vanishing before they touched anything. 

"Just imagine what it'll look like when I have Papa's powers." She said as she rubbed the lizard's head. "But not for awhile, I hope." Ashira's voice turned sad "I don't want to lose Papa yet." 

"A thing must die if it is to be reborn." The lizard said. 

An older Vergil might have wondered how such a young child knew of such a concept, or how Ashira had processed the knowledge of such a tragedy when she was only five. But older Vergil would have experienced his own tragedy by then and, to some degree, would have understood the necessity for demons like himself to be familiar with such things. 

Younger Vergil didn't have a clue what she was talking about. Nor did he get to ask, as she whirled on him so fast he was surprised she didn’t fall flat on her face. “Vergil!” She said with a wave. She was the only person who called him by his full name, claiming that it was “too interesting to shorten”. And he’d always taken some pride in that, even though he had no involvement choosing it. “Papa said you might be here today.”

Suddenly, Vergil felt very awkward. She had this… knowing grin. As if she expected him to know something that he most certainly didn’t. “I’m…” he started. “Afraid father has not told me of anything special.”

He expected her to be upset. Instead, she laughed. “It’s my birthday, silly.” She snapped her fingers and a small, golden flame appeared. “But I have a gift for you.” She held it out to him. He eyed it warily. Fire and him had never been friends, considering how often Dante burnt Vergil’s food trying to “make it fancier”. Of course, Dante never tried that on his own food: that would be impractical. “It won’t hurt you.” Ashira said. “Promise.”

“How do I… take it?”

“However you want.” She said. “You can scoop it into your palm, touch it with your fingers until it jumps to you.” She pursed her lips in thought. “That’s usually how Papa does it.”

Slowly, Vergil reached his hand into the flame. As she promised, it didn’t hurt. In fact, it was soothing as it ran down his fingers and along his arm. He stared at it, flexing his hand if only to watch how the flames danced along whatever was moving. A moment later, it sunk into his skin, and he was unable to hold back a gasp when he felt energy surge through his body. For a brief moment, he felt stronger than ever; capable of taking on the world. But it slipped away a few minutes later. “How did you do that?”

“Those flames heal.” She said. “But I was asked to try it on you and see what happened.” She pulled at her hair - upbraided this time, but tied back with a blue bow - embarrassed. “Did you… like it?”

“It was… comfortable.”

Her smile came back. “Good!” When she wrapped her arm through his, he found he didn’t mind it. “Would you like some cake? Mama made it with strawberries!”

“Shira.” He said suddenly.

She blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Shira.” He repeated. “That’s…” He trailed off as he hadn’t really meant to blurt out what he was thinking. “Does anyone call you that?”

She shook her head, but her eyes seemed to glitter. “You can if you want. I kinda like it.”

Curtly, he nodded. 

* * *

Two weeks after Vergil’s sixth birthday, Dante escaped Sparda’s grasp and found them outside. 

“So this is your big secret.” Dante said proudly as if he had discovered a treasure trove buried outside of their home. “She is pretty cute.” Dante winked at her. “What’s your name, princess?

Ashira’s face turned red. “-ira” was all Vergil heard as she was too embarrassed to say it. 

“Ira?” Dante said. “Strange name, but I’ll take it.” He held his hand out. Ashira stared at it, but didn’t move. “Shy, huh?” Still, Ashira said nothing. “Well that’s okay. I’ll just start playing with you guys from now on, okay?”

And Vergil had been so angry that Sparda had to break the two up and Kai had taken Ashira home. But, from then on, there was nothing Vergil could do about it. Whenever Ashira visited, Dante demanded to join them. Sometimes, Sparda dissuaded him. Other times it was just Eva who could never say no to her youngest son. Even at six years old, Dante was a shameless flirt. It probably helped that they hadn’t seen many girls before her. He talked to her constantly, often breaking in on Vergil’s conversations. He asked his mother for a guitar to join them, and usually took over that time too. 

And the angrier Vergil became, the longer his brother stuck around. And the longer Dante stuck around, the more withdrawn Ashira became. Very slowly, and probably not on purpose, Dante was taking Ashira away from him. 

Vergil hated it. 

Three months later, on Ashira’s birthday, no less, Vergil had stubbornly grabbed a black marker, taken Ashira’s hand, and dragged her (willingly) into the woods behind their house. Dante had slept in that day, thanks to some “medicine” Eva had given him the night before for a cold. Kai also seemed involved, somehow, as he had brought Ashira much earlier than usual, claiming he wanted to talk to Sparda. Vergil didn’t care how it happened, as he was determined to make Ashira smile again. 

It seemed he and his older counterpart were not too far off in that regard. 

“This is nice.” She murmured when he found the clearing he was looking for. There was a thin layer of snow all around them, but neither of them were capable of feeling it. In fact, he was pretty certain it was melting around her bare feet as she walked. “But you’re… sad.”

“No.” He said. “I’m not…” He trailed off. He didn’t think he was, anyway. Frustrated, maybe. But that had been months in the making. And maybe (probably) he was (absolutely) being irrational. But his brother had taken a lot from him recently. “You’re _ my _ friend.” He said stubbornly. “Not Dante’s.”

Her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“No.” Vergil said. “You don’t have to be nice. He’s trying to take you away from me. Just like he always does with everything.” He tugged on her arm, but he made certain it didn’t hurt. She watched him as he uncapped his marker and drew an elaborate V on the inside of her wrist. Once he was done, he put it in his pocket and admired his handiwork. “Now he can’t.” 

For a long moment, she stared at it, confused. All of Vergil’s anxiety rushed into him at that moment once he realized what he had actually done. She was his _ friend. _Not a book or a violin or one of his practice swords. A person. One who had every right to be friends with whoever she wanted. And he…

“Shira…” He said, quiet. 

She shook her head before smiling. “You only write your name on things you like, right?”

Had she noticed that? He supposed he had been doing it more often lately than he used to. “I guess so.” He said, unable to hold her gaze. “But I…”

She blew a gentle, but fire laced breath on the mark. His eyes snapped back up to as it dried immediately. “There we go.” She said with a grin. “Now it’ll stay there for as long as I want it to.”

He stared at her, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. “You… you wanna keep it?”

“Only if I get to write my name on you.”

Vergil hesitated. That wasn’t an unreasonable request, given the circumstances. But he could imagine his brother teasing him over it. “Just keep your coat on.” Ashira said. “Then it’ll be our secret.”

He glanced at his sleeve. Of course. After Sparda had made a smaller, blue coat similar to his own, Vergil had rarely taken it off. And Dante didn’t mess with it, having gotten his own, red one soon after. He rolled his sleeve up and held it out to her alongside the marker. Ashira’s face lit up as she took it. After a long moment, in which he was too self-conscious to look at what she was doing, she said, “all done!” She put the cap on the marker with a large flourish as she took a step back. There, a bit higher on his arm than his own mark had been, was an “S” drawn with swirls on both ends and a feather connecting them both. How she had done that so fast as beyond him, but the fact she used their nickname was…

He swallowed the strange feelings he couldn’t identify and let her dry the mark before he covered it. “Now no one can take you from _ me _.” She said with a hint of pride. 

At the time, as little Vergil contently walked her back to the house for breakfast, he hadn’t known how true that was. 

* * *

Vergil’s seventh birthday is when his memories usually turned to nightmares.

Some nights, he remembered Mundus’ attack, and usually woke up to Ashira rubbing his back or whispering his name. Other nights, he saw Ashira’s nightmare, where she pleaded for Kai to find him only for Celeste to bury her memories away. If that happened, then he would be the one to wake up first, and help her until she calmed back down. In both cases, the memory ended once their younger selves forgot each other. 

But sometimes - very rarely- Vergil would dream. Not of death or separation, but of what life could have been, had everything gone right. If they had grown up together and learned of what they meant to each other. If he and Dante had learned everything from their father. If his mother was still alive, and her mother had never been taken away. Sometimes, he dreamed of a wedding, like the ceremony their mothers had performed on their souls. More often, though, he imagined standing with her, looking over some landscape they had yet to see in the waking world. 

But it was in these moments - in these impossible dreams - that he wondered how much would have really changed. Who’s to say that his ambitions still wouldn’t have manifested until he abandoned her for the Underworld? What if Mundus had found her while he was still young and Sparda or Kai weren’t there to save her? Would that have driven him mad? Would Gaius have still gone crazy? Would Kai still be alive?

“I think about it sometimes too.” Ashira whispered, surprising him. The two were on a cliffside, overlooking a lake of some kind. This was the first time she had ever spoken to him before either of them woke up. “Could you imagine it? If Kai was right, we’d be together for…” She tilted her head in thought. “Almost forty years? Counting our childhood.”

It was difficult to imagine, but not unreasonable. They were, after all, going to live for much longer than that. “But,” She glanced back at him. “Nero would never have been born. At least, not as the man we know now.”

Vergil said nothing. Of all the things that could have gone wrong - or everything that could have been avoided had they not been separated - losing Nero was the worst one of them all. Everything he had endured due to his own foolishness. The years both of them had lost in the Underworld seemed inconsequential to the life Vergil had unwittingly brought into the world. All the good he had done… 

“Forty years.” He said. “Is nothing in the span of thousands.”

She chuckled as she looked back out over the water. “We survived and found each other again. And that’s what really matters.”

* * *

Vergil snapped awake, but caught himself before startling Ashira. She stirred ever so slightly, but her eyes didn’t open. If she was still dreaming, he hoped it was pleasant. Sharing a mutual dream was becoming a common occurrence now, which made the occasional nightmares tolerable. And considering the way she dozed without a hint of pain, Vergil knew she was fine. But he still wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back to his chest, just in case. After a deep breath, he nuzzled against her shoulder blade. The sweet scent of her (and her strawberry perfume, of course) seemed to seep directly into his skin, as if it were her fire soothing him. 

Maybe things could have been different, but dwelling on the “what if’s” had never gotten him far in life. They were both alive and together. Nero, who had lived just over half the time they had, had already changed the world for the better in more ways than Vergil could count. That alone, along with the family he was building and the people he had saved, made the 20 years he had lost - and the forty years away from her - worth it. 

“Go to sleep.” Ashira murmured, shifting until his arm was resting on her hip. “It can’t be morning already.”

He chuckled. “And how would you know that?”

“Because you’re brooding.”

He scoffed. “I prefer the term reflecting.”

“Call it what you will.” She said with a tired smile as she tried to glance over her shoulder at him, but failed miserably with her hair strewn about in random directions. “It’s not sleeping.” 

He brushed his hand through her hair, pulling it back away from her face like he knew she preferred it. She hummed in appreciation and nuzzled the arm that he slid under her. “If you’re nice, I might be able to make a happier dream.”

“Is that so?” He whispered, kissing her ear. “You’re awfully demanding tonight.”

“My mark was better.” She said, as if that decided anything. He would win that fight without any struggle. But she was sleepy, and Vergil never argued with her like this; that would dishonorable. 

“Go to sleep.” He said. 

She snorted, but adjusted herself until she was curved perfectly up against him. “I’m happy with our life,” She murmured as she began to drift away. “Despite the struggles.”

He planted a gentle kiss to her neck. Her soul tugged on his. He let her pull him into a deep and gentle slumber, filled with dreams of things that he could accomplish, if given the time. 


End file.
